


if you never shoot you’ll never know

by scenedenial



Category: Tiny Meat Gang (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Drug Use, Explicit Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, armed robberies, cody’s POV, criminal activity, inspired by the 1975’s ‘robbers’ mv, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:13:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23677438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scenedenial/pseuds/scenedenial
Summary: “Drive, drive, fucking drive.” Noel hisses through his teeth and around his joint, herding Cody into the back of the white van, barely tugging the doors closed before Tom floors it and they peel out of the parking lot with rubber screeching against concrete. Noel’s gun, shoved in his waistband, presses into the small of Cody’s back. Noel’s breath is hot and fast in his ear.
Relationships: Cody Ko/Noel Miller
Comments: 17
Kudos: 106





	if you never shoot you’ll never know

**Author's Note:**

> TW: guns/violence, drug use, injury/blood
> 
> I’ve had this in my drafts forever and finally got around to finishing it!! I really hope you guys like it cause it’s the first thing I’ve done in a while that I’ve felt was worth posting ;0
> 
> As usual, this is a work of fiction, don’t show this to them, be cool, etc. Love you all <3

“Drive, drive, fucking drive.” Noel hisses through his teeth and around his joint, herding Cody into the back of the white van, barely tugging the doors closed before Tom floors it and they peel out of the parking lot with rubber screeching against concrete. Noel’s gun, shoved in his waistband, presses into the small of Cody’s back. Noel’s breath is hot and fast in his ear.

Cody watches the yellow and red of the gas station sign blur fade out behind them, watches the way Noel’s chest rises and falls.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Tom turns back to them, still pushing sixty as they skid around a corner onto a flat expanse of highway, “was that?” 

Noel scrambles off of Cody, pulls his balaclava off, leans over the seat with his gun in his hand before Cody sees him lift his shirt. Tom swallows hard as the barrel of it knocks against his back of his skull.

“We paying you to talk or to drive?” Noel’s voice is chilly and dangerous. Cody presses his open mouth to the nape of Noel’s neck, the place where the tang of sweat mingles with the scent of his shampoo. Noel’s hand comes around and digs into Cody’s hip. The gun doesn’t waver.

Tom stays silent, shoulders squared. Smart.

Noel lowers the barrel after another long moment. Cody wraps his arms around Noel’s chest, nips at his earlobe. Noel drops the gun, still locked and loaded, next to the backpack full of wrinkled bills and pushes Cody down onto his back.

—

The house is always dark, even in the heat of the California desert day, because Noel is paranoid and keeps the curtains pulled even if they’re five miles from the nearest neighbor. Like it’s life and death (and someday, maybe, it could be). Cody nudges the frayed-edge flannel away from the crack of light over the sink as he washes the dishes; the ground outside is bleached and cracked, the sun glaring white off of it. 

“Noel,” Cody says, and he seems to materialize behind him like a cat, gangly arm looped over Cody’s shoulders, “let’s go out later.”

Noel nuzzles into the place between Cody’s neck and shoulder. He’s holding his jaw tense. Cody turns away from the sink, holds onto the back of Noel’s neck with both hands. He looks wiped. He has a shallow gash above his left eye from where he scraped the door during their mad dash out of the cool gas station and into the blistering heat. Cody presses his lips to it.

“Not tonight.” Noel says, his smile apologetic. “That was—”

“Too close.” Cody finishes for him. “I know.” 

It’s Cody’s fault, not that Noel would ever point that out in certain terms. Cody’s timing that was off, his hands moving too slow as Noel’s bullet took out the security camera above the stunned cashier’s head. She was two digits into 911 before they made it out the sliding doors. 

They got the money, though. Almost $430 in small bills. Not great, but not too bad either. Not too bad at all when Noel wiped Cody’s cum off his stomach with a stack of twenties in the back of the getaway van. 

“I wanna see a movie.” Cody murmurs, petulant for no reason. Noel opens the fridge, roots around until he comes up with a bottle of wine, red and too sweet, nabbed absentmindedly on the way out of the liquor store from April. 

“I’ll show you a movie.” Noel’s voice is low and dripping with false saccharine. He pops the bottle, crosses the small kitchen in two strides. “Here.” 

Noel tips the bottle back, holds Cody’s jaw tight with one calloused hand. The wine burns in his throat, stains his mouth dark and thick. When they kiss, Noel pulls away, mutters _you taste like cough syrup_ , leans back in just as quick. 

Cody bandages Noel’s head on the mattress, straddling his hips and leaning down with his tongue between his teeth to smooth on the ointment. Noel looks like a seraph underneath him, shirtless and dirty with a bruise spreading at his ribs and smaller ones blooming on his neck, the whites of his eyes pink from weed and exhaustion. Cody presses the bandage down and Noel swears under his breath. 

They do watch a movie, eventually, smoking a bowl on the tattered couch with some scratchy black-and-white classic flickering on the tv screen. Noel falls asleep halfway through, his head heavy on Cody’s shoulder, his gun still shining with steel at his navel. Cody runs a hand through his hair, doesn’t stop until the end credits roll.

—

Noel has pulled the gun on Cody exactly once. 

Cody’s fault. 

Sour air in the house and acid melting into a bad trip and Noel scratching his way out of his skin and Cody trying to touch him, trying to wrestle him into stillness, and the ice cold barrel under his jaw, teeth clacking together and the look in Noel’s eyes that Cody will never, ever forget.

Noel didn’t cry once he became himself again but his eyes stayed glassy and still and when he apologized it sounded like knives in his throat.

They haven’t dropped since.

—

Cody does the laundry in the morning, feeling like a housewife on the back porch wringing Noel’s hoodies out and watching as the trickles of water turn the scorched earth dark. He doesn’t quite mind it. Something soothing in the pull of sopping black fabric against the backdrop of bleach blue sky. 

The washing machine in the cobwebbed basement doesn’t work, and some days the water in the kitchen sink runs rust-red for minutes at a time. 

On the rare occasion of rain, the roof leaks into their bedroom and Noel has to pull the mattress across the floor. Their sheets are red and threadbare.

Cody fucking loves this place.

—

“I got you something.” Noel says when he elbows open the screen door with an armful of groceries. Orange juice, flank steak, a bundle of bananas. A twelve pack of cheap beer. 

“Yeah?” Cody asks. He’s wearing a pair of cutoff sweats and nothing else, the house hot as balls even with every blind drawn and the fan rattling away atop the refrigerator. “Thanks, man.” 

“You ain’t even know what it is yet.” Noel opens the fridge, shoves a half-gallon of milk and a bag of shredded cheese onto the top shelf. 

“Doesn’t matter.” Cody stretches, watches the slight tense in Noel’s bicep as he lifts the beer up next to the fan. “I like your gifts.”

“Shut up, man.” Noel turns, fishes in his pocket. Holds out a closed fist to Cody and drops something cool and heavy into his palm.

It’s a ring. A thick, silver band with faint, illegible carving curved along the inside. Set with a square, green gem which is probably why Noel picked it. _You should wear green more._

It’s a perfect fit.

“Did you buy this?” Cody looks at Noel’s face, at his shiny, pretty eyes.

“ _Yeah_ , asshole, I bought it. That pawnshop on fifteenth.” Noel gives him a look but Cody knows him well enough to catch the nervousness on the underbelly of it. The glint of desperation to please.

“I love it.” Cody says, and kisses the place where Noel’s neck melts into his shoulder instead of saying _I love you_.

He does. But it’s unspoken.

—

The ring glints against Noel’s thin, bare chest. Cody’s t-shirt is riding up and the scratch of the couch fabric sends shivers up his spine. His knuckles press against Noel’s ribs; green against gold. 

“We’re goin’ out tomorrow night.” Noel pants it into Cody’s neck.

“Where?” 

“That liquor store next to the Safeway. Tom staked it out.”

“Yeah?” Cody likes when Noel says _we_ like that. Likes being a part of his plan. “Sounds good.”

“I’ll take you to dinner. Anywhere you want.” Noel’s breath is hot and heady and sweet.

“Gonna buy me a pretty dress too?” Cody teases, carding his fingers through the short hair at the nape of Noel’s neck.

“If you want one.” Noel’s grins, licks his bottom lip.

Cody pulls him into a kiss by the chain he wears around his neck. 

—

Cody loves the way Noel feels underneath him. Loved it the very first time, on the carpeted floor of the guest bedroom in the apartment of the dealer they both bought from. Loved the way Noel’s skinny shoulders jumped when Cody touched his hip, the hurried, desperate sound of his voice as Cody knelt, fumbling with the condom. Loved the way Noel walked down the stairs of the complex afterwards, back stiff and very straight. 

Loved it when he caught Cody by the collar of the shirt, pulled him in close on the street in broad daylight, for everybody to see. Cody had Xanax and weed in his pockets and wet boxers from pulling them up too fast.

 _I’ll find you soon._ Noel had said. He did.

—

“What’re you _waiting_ for.” Noel groans, eyes hidden by the crook of his elbow, mouth pink and wet and open. 

“Be patient.” Cody teases, stripped down to his boxers as the sun goes down slow outside. 

“Don’t wanna.” Noel’s voice is so petulant that Cody could laugh in his face. He licks slow up the side of Noel’s neck instead. 

“Don’t you wanna take it in the bed?” Cody asks, knows he’s being a dick and doesn’t care, “Facedown in the sheets? Won’t that feel better on your knees?” 

“Shut _up_ ,” Noel’s hand shoots down and palms at Cody through his boxers and, okay, yeah, fine, “and give it to me.”

Cody leaves Noel’s too-big shirt and white socks on, liking the flush of his cock against the fabric and the vulnerability of his toes curling in his kiddie socks. 

Cody likes going slow, likes listening to Noel rambling and cursing and moaning and telling Cody to go _fuck_ himself until Cody’s jams his fingers in his mouth shut him up.

Cody fucks Noel open with his own spit on his fingers, half dry but still so fucking _good_ when Noel keens and writhes against the blue upholstery of the secondhand couch that they hauled out from a junkyard in Phoenix, good as new. 

“More.” Noel pants, and Cody shoves his left knee up towards his shoulder to get a better angle, to push deeper. Noel’s cheeks are dark red, eyes glossy and half-closed. The gash on his temple has healed into a pinkish scab. Cody wonders whether it’ll scar. 

“That’s nice, huh.” Cody murmurs, savoring the way that, like this, he can have Noel still and quiet and relaxed beneath him, can pull him away from the getaway van and the cash in the freezer and under the floorboards and the gun that lays, forgotten, on the kitchen counter. “You’re so nice.” 

He jerks Noel’s cock with the hand that isn’t inside of him, loving the way his head falls back, loving the bruised expanse of neck, loving the pull of the new ring against the soft, tight skin of Noel’s balls. Beautiful. 

“Put it in,” Noel groans, and he’s soft and malleable and needy and this is Cody’s favorite side of him, “fuck.”

Cody does, because his job is giving Noel what he wants and he wouldn’t trade that for the world, anyways. 

_“Mmm.”_ Noel’s back arches; Cody wipes the drool at the edge of Noel’s mouth with the back of the hand that isn’t guiding his cock into that burning, yielding body. Excess lube pools around Noel’s rim and Cody drags a finger slow through it, relishing the way Noel shivers, full-body, at once trying to jerk away from Cody’s touch and shove forward into it. 

“You’re perfect.” Cody says to see Noel’s eyes close and the blush on his nose deepen.

“Don’t.” Noel murmurs, but Cody knows him well enough to know what he doesn’t mean.

“Fucking so beautiful.” Cody’s bending him nearly in two, chest resting against the backs of Noel’s thighs as he holds onto the arm of the couch and drives forward with his pelvis. The angle is bad and they’re both twisted up to fit, but when Cody’s cock slots forward until his hips are flush with Noel’s burning skin it doesn’t _fucking_ matter. 

“Yes, yeah,” Noel whines, and Cody is willing to bet that he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Noel, who’s always so careful, so attentive to the minutiae, orderly and snapping at Cody when he leaves the van’s windows down two inches or gets sloppy with cash counting. Noel, with his programmer’s brain, the anxiety that he holds in his shoulders and knuckles. 

Cody takes him apart, brick by brick, and builds him back up with nails down his back and teeth in his neck.

“Does that feel good?” Cody asks, knowing he sounds like a fucking high schooler but wanting to hear Noel’s answer nonetheless. 

“Yes,” Noel’s throat sounds thick; he sounds like he’s on the verge of tears, “so goddamn good, Cody.” 

Cody kisses the place where Noel’s neck meets his sternum. Kisses his Adam’s apple. The spot above his left nipple. 

Noel’s hand comes up and catches Cody’s. 

“Please,” Noel whispers, and that’s not something that Noel says hardly ever. 

“You gonna come?” Cody asks, squeezing Noel’s hand in his, “you can come.” 

“Fuck.” Noel squeezes his eyes shut. Cody thrusts into him, hard and direct, and Noel is coming across Cody’s hand and his own stomach. _“Fuck.”_

“Beautiful, beautiful, you’re so beautiful.” Cody’s cock stutters, valiantly, then goes soft and soaked and sensitive inside of Noel. 

Watching his own cum drip out onto the red, burning skin of Noel’s ass gives Cody the same head rush as diving into the back of the van as Noel’s gun fires behind him.

—

Noel sleeps late; Cody props himself up on one elbow and watches his eyelids flutter, wonders if he’s dreaming and what about and whether or not they have enough flour to make pancakes or if Noel will want to go to the diner for scrambled eggs and Canadian bacon and Bloody Marys and when they’ll be leaving tonight and whether this will be the one where they both end up dead or in jail cells or dead in jail cells.

Better not to think about that. They’ve made it this far without incident.

More or less.

The sun is at its highest point in the sky and Cody has already gone for a run around the outskirts of the fenced-in property and downed a whole thing of blue Gatorade, sweating in the kitchen, by the time Noel opens his eyes. 

“Let’s shower,” Noel says, wincing when he sits up, and Cody smirks imagining the insides of Noel’s thighs itching with dried cum. A shower doesn’t sound half bad. 

Showering together began as a matter of logistics, given that they’ll get twenty minutes of hot water a day, if they’re lucky, and morphed into a soft routine of Cody rubbing shampoo into Noel’s scalp while they wrestle for the space under the thin spray. It’s good. It’s nice. 

Noel traces the outline of the tattoo on Cody’s bicep as the air in the tiny bathroom gets hazy with water vapor. 

Cody nips at his shoulder. Swipes a finger over the sensitive spot between Noel’s legs and laughs when he gets pinned to the cold tile in retaliation. Noel lets his mouth fill with warm water and spits it down the drain. 

Their lips meet soft in the tangle to get dressed in the small space and it’s as natural as the hickeys left behind on Noel’s thin chest. As natural as the fit of the silver and green ring on Cody’s middle finger.

—

They leave the house at eight, just before the sun sets entirely. Noel is wearing all black, a bandana tied around the bottom half of his face. The gun hidden under his jacket even in eighty degree weather. Cody’s boots clip on the dry ground as he walks around to open the trunk of the van and climb in. Tom is in the driver’s seat, finishing a beer. 

“In and out, okay?” Noel is saying, “There should only be one guy working but we still don’t got a margin for error.” As if they ever have a margin for error. As if they’re building an IKEA desk and not committing armed robbery for the second time this week. 

Cody wants to say _yeah, duh_ , but he just nods. 

Noel slots a hand, warm and solid, over Cody’s knee. Tom pulls the van out, the wheels throwing up dust in every direction around them.

It goes well. Smooth. Noel holds the gun to the cashier’s head (the kid doesn’t look like he’s even twenty one yet, face full of acne—Cody feels almost bad) as he empties the register; Cody combs the aisles as quick as he can, grabbing vodka and tequila, the expensive kinds, and a fat handful of scratchers.

They’re in and out in two minutes. 

The wheels of the van skid as Noel hauls the trunk open and shoves Cody in ahead of him. The bottles clank against each other as Noel’s tongue pushes rough into Cody’s mouth. He’s hard. (He’s _easy_.) Cody smiles against his teeth.

—

Noel does take Cody to dinner. Holds the door for him to some gaudy Italian place with crystal chandeliers dotting the ceiling. Tells the hostess they need a table for two in this voice that makes Cody see the business exec he could’ve been, in another life. Hundreds in the pocket of his suit jacket by other means.

It makes Cody’s chest tight, sometimes. How easy Noel could up and leave, could turn his life around with a senior programming job and a loft in LA and a wife on his arm and a clean shave every day of the week. Two and a half kids with Noel’s eyes and loud laugh.

But then Noel is placing a hand on Cody’s waist, guiding him through the maze of white tablecloths, and Cody sees the dirt under his nails and the scab on his face and the edge of a bruise beneath his collar and the worry fades out slow, ice melting in whiskey. Cody wants to grab him by the neck in the middle of this restaurant and hiss _mine_ in his ear. He presses his thumb into Noel’s wrist instead, feels his heartbeat jump there. 

—

They haven’t done cocaine for ages, but Cody still feels the familiar itch in his nostrils when Noel straddles him on the half-stripped mattress and pulls the tiny baggie out of the pocket of his jacket, grinning. 

“Where’d you get that?” Cody asks, pressing his palms into Noel’s thighs.

“Tom’s guy.” Noel opens the baggie, licks his pointer finger and dips it into the blow. “Thought it could be fun. Unwind a little before the gas station hit tomorrow.”

“Here.” Cody curls his top lip back, loving the feeling of Noel running his finger over his gums. It reminds Cody of the first time they did this—a cramped, dark room and the fuzzy radio buzzing inside his veins and fucking until time lost meaning and finally waking up with a roaring headache and his cock still inside of Noel.

Noel coats his own gums, seals the baggie back up and tucks it into Cody’s discarded left boot. The spreading bitterness numbs Cody’s jaw. If he could, he would hold Noel’s face still between his palms and sit here all night, just to watch his pupils dilate millimeter by millimeter. 

“Let’s watch a movie.” Noel looks pretty and exhilarated and _good_ in the warm lamplight, sucking leftover coke off his thumb. Cody will always say yes to him.

(Cody realized that he would die, bloody and agonizing and slow, for Noel before he realized he was in love with him. Maybe here, in the falling-down house in the desert, those things are one and the same.)

Noel mutes the DVD half an hour in to get down on his knees and blow Cody. His mouth, his nails on Cody’s thighs, feels like something else. Like _nothing_ else. 

Jesus. Jesus Christ almighty. 

—

Cody wakes up sick and shivery and it takes two and a half cups of coffee, curled in on himself on the couch, before he feels normal again. 

Cody licks his two front teeth, feels the scummy buildup there. Makes a mental note to brush them later. 

The curtain over the sink is pulled back and the late-morning light floods in, brilliant, catching the dust in the air and the dirty streaks on the floor. Cody wonders if there’s still bleach and a mop in the basement. He wonders if they’ll stay here forever.

(And that thought isn’t half bad either—him and Noel sharing clothes and a mattress on the ground under a leaky roof and scraping and stealing by and watching black and white movies and making quesadillas on the one working stove burner until they eventually run themselves out and down. But, fuck. Cody is almost thirty. His college friends have kids. They have white-collar jobs and mortgages and life insurance.)

Cody’s head pounds.

When Noel wakes he’s sullen and quiet and squints his eyes against the sun like he has a migraine. He yanks the curtain closed, takes the coffee Cody offers him (black, one sugar), and disappears again into the back room. His five o’clock shadow makes him look older and more tired than Cody ever wants to see him as. 

Cody lays down against the scratchy blue fabric and closes his eyes. Does his best to not think about anything at all.

—

Cody braves the bedroom hours later, rapping on the door with the back of his hand as he balances a plate of eggs and toast in the other.

“Noel? You hungry?” 

There’s not much to do, he’s learned, when Noel gets like this. Nothing much to do but wait it out. And it’s not like Cody _minds_ waiting, doesn’t mind putting on Full House reruns or going for a jog or cleaning out the cupboards, but he can still taste the afterbite of the coke at the top of his throat and he feels like he’s about to writhe his way out of his skin so he pushes the door open.

“I made eggs.” It’s dark in the bedroom and Noel is laying on his back, statue-still, eyes closed. Cody sits at the foot of the mattress, ginger and irritated and lonely. “Want any?” 

“Sure.” Noel says, but he doesn’t move.

“What is it, man?” 

“Nothin’.” 

“It’s not _nothing_ ,” Cody says, gentle as he can muster, “c’mon.” 

“’M just whacked out.” Noel rubs at his closed eyes with the heels of his palms. Cody wants to get him into the shower and hold him, folded and small, against his chest. 

“You should drink some water.” 

“Don’t _do_ that.” Noel is sitting up, now. Eyes sharp like they are when he puts a hand on the barrel of the gun. Cody sucks in a breath.

(He’s never been scared of Noel. Not really.)

“What?” Cody sets the plate on the mattress between them, knows the eggs are going cold, knows Noel won’t eat cold eggs and Cody will have to toss them off the porch later for the stray dogs. _Just shut up and eat the fucking eggs, Noel._

“Don’t try ‘n take care of me.” Noel drops his head to his hands. 

And, yeah, okay. That hurts. Fine. Whatever. 

“Oh, okay, _sorry_ ,” Cody can’t help it; he know he should, but he can’t, “guess I forgot what the fuck I was doing in this fucking house playing your _wife_ in the middle of nowhere. Do your own laundry, Noel. Take care of your fucking self.”

“Cody,” Noel starts, “Jesus—” 

Cody slams the door behind himself.

—

Noel is gone when Cody comes back to the house, back from fuming in circles through the desert until the back of his shirt soaks through with sweat and he half-forgets what his anger was about in the first place.

For a minute, there is nothing but heart-wrenching, gut-sinking panic. _You’ve done it now, Kolodziejzyk. He left. He left you. You’ve fucking done it now._

But Noel’s wallet is in the place he hides it, the back of a jumbled dresser drawer that Cody tears through half-blind. The wallet is here and the gun, the gun and Noel’s balaclava that was sitting on the ground when Cody last saw him, are gone. 

He’s out on the sixth street hit, out without Cody which feels almost like cheating until Cody remembers that he actually _could_ be cheating and the thought of someone else opening Noel up is sickening enough that, _ugh_. Cody shakes his head free of it. 

But they have a _rule_ about this. Because two heads are better than one. Because no one can cover a whole convenience store alone, no matter how full the gun is. Because this isn’t how they _do_ it. 

Cody doesn’t think about it. 

The keys to the busted-up civic that they never drive are on top of the fridge and he’s out the front door before his boots are tied.

This is how they get arrested. This is how they get _killed_. 

Noel, who sketches the blueprints on sheets of newsprint and pins them to the walls to study. Noel, who has never been anything but clean and meticulous and careful careful careful. 

Fuck. 

The engine spits, turns over, finally flickers to life in a groan of machinery. Cody reverses, foot to the gas. 

_Don’t take care of me_.

Yeah. Fuck that.

—

The van is stalled, engine running, in the parking lot of the gas station. Cody sees Tom in the driver’s seat, smoking a cigarette. The sun is going down and the shadows that spread across the flatness of the desert are eerie in a way that they never are when Noel puts his hand on the small of Cody’s back. 

Cody parks the civic, boots open the door. He has no plan. No gun. Nothing. Noel would hate this. 

“Tom!” Cody shouts, sees Tom put the smoke out in a panic on the dashboard as his head whips around. He cracks the passenger seat window.

“Cody? What the fuck?” 

“You shouldn’t have brought him out here.” 

“Don’t go in there.” Tom’s knuckles are tight on the wheel. “Don’t be stupid.” 

“Fuck you, Tom.” 

Cody’s palm is slick with sweat on the grimy handle of the poster-plastered convenience store door. He’s convinced that on the other side of the peeling Rockstar advertisements there will be Noel’s body on the ground, blood pooled around the head that Cody has shaved over the kitchen sink, has held between his palms while thrusting forward into that mouth. Fuck. _Fuck_.

He has to put all the weight in his body behind the door to push it open. 

It happens in an instant. 

The images flood in like a fast montage of stills from, whatever, a Tarantino film. The overturned display of lighters, scattered across the dirty tile floor. The buzzy fluorescent overheads like a hospital waiting room. Noel holding the gun an inch from the cashier’s chest as he reaches slow across the countertop.

The cashier’s head turns; his eyes meet Cody’s. 

Cody sees his mouth form the word _fuck_ before the sound reaches his ears. 

Noel’s jaw drops his lips are wet and beautiful he chews them when he’s nervous is he nervous now?

“I—” Cody says.

There is a wet, tearing heat spreading down his left side, the sweet tang of iron like dust in the air.

Cody sees white.

—

“Cody, Cody, _fuck_ , he got my gun, Cody, oh my fucking _god_ , I’m so sorry, fuck, Jesus fuck.” Cody thrashes up in the back seat of the van, Noel leaning over him, Noel’s hands covered with blood and, what the fuck, is that blood coming out of Cody? 

He groans, feels sick, screws his eyes shut. Noel’s hands pressed into his side feel like a branding iron.

“Here, here, give him this.” Tom passes a lit joint over the seat. The highway rushes past them through the windows, a nauseating blur of grey and blue and brown. Cody clings to Noel’s shoulders. 

“Open your mouth, c’mon, it’s okay.” Noel’s eyes are wet. Why are Noel’s eyes wet?

The weed tastes stale and dank but Cody sucks it in because the burn in his throat is better, lightyears better, than the burn in his side, and because Noel’s bloody hand is shaking as he holds the joint to Cody’s lips.

“You’re gonna be okay.” Noel says, sounding unconvinced, sounding _scared_. 

Cody wants to kiss his face, wants to hold his hand and comfort him and count his breaths aloud and calm him down. It hurts too much.

“Tom, fuck, drive faster.” 

“You wanna get pulled over? Right now?”

“We need to put something on this. Stop the fucking bleeding.” Noel’s voice sounds hollow and echoey and far, far away. 

“Hospital?” Tom asks.

“You know I can’t take him to a hospital. That guy has his fucking car. Jesus fucking _Christ_ , we’re going to jail.” 

“Noel, _shut up_.” Tom’s eyes in the rearview mirror tell Cody _I don’t get paid enough for this shit._ “We’re almost there.” 

Cody reaches up, presses a hand to Noel’s cheek. It leaves a handprint, red and sloppy. _I’ll be okay, Noel._ Cody just wants to go to sleep. 

“No, man, no, keep your eyes open. Stay awake, okay? Stay with me.” Noel pats at Cody’s face, pulls him up further into a seated position. Cody notices that his sweatshirt is off, pressed into Cody’s side and soaking up the gore.

“That’s your favorite.” Cody manages, pulling at the fabric. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Noel murmurs. His fingers pull sticky in Cody’s hair. “Don’t worry.” 

So Cody doesn’t.

—

Noel shoves everything off the tiny counter in the bathroom with one sweep of his arm, helps Tom prop Cody up against it. The tile is slick and cool. Noel’s eyes are wild. Cody gropes for his hand.

“Get a knife from the kitchen.” Noel tells Tom. Cody’s mouth tastes metallic and bitter. His eyelids feel like lead weights.

Noel cuts him out of his t-shirt, squeezes Cody’s hand while he unsticks the fabric from the ragged edges of the gunshot wound. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Noel whispers, running water onto a hand towel with his shoulders shaking. Cody closes his eyes, tries to block out every sensation but that of Noel’s hot, uneven breath on his neck. The sensation of the towel dabbing at his ribs is like fire and acid and hot bile in his throat. Jesus.

“I think it’s a through and through. Shallow.” Noel says from underwater, sounding trembly and relieved and exhausted. “Doesn’t look like any of the bullet’s in here still.” 

“Fuck. That’s good.” Tom says, and Cody wants him to leave, wants to cling to Noel and shove his pants down and show him that he’s fine, he’s brave, brave for _him_. 

“Listen,” Noel says, and sometimes Cody thinks they can read parts of each other’s minds, “can you go try ‘n get the car?” 

“Yeah.” Tom sounds stoic and resigned and Cody regrets all the times they’ve shouted at him in the car. _Thanks, Tom. Sorry._

Cody hears the front door close. 

Noel’s palms are warm on Cody’s cheeks and when he opens his eyes again they’re face to face and Noel says _you’re going to be okay_ and presses forward until all Cody tastes is salt and blood and _Noel._ He wants to drown in it. He wants to choke on the iron until there’s nothing else left.

“I’m gonna stitch it.” Noel says after he pulls back. His face is a sheen of sweat and Cody’s blood. He looks half-mad. He looks like god. 

“Here?” The weed is hitting, or something, because taking a breath in feels less like Cody’s organs are spilling out from between his ribs. Or maybe that’s on account of Noel’s mouth. 

“Yeah. It’s fine. Done it before.” Cody doesn’t ask. Not now. 

“Noel?” 

“Yeah?” Noel stops his rooting in the cupboard under the sink, looks up at Cody with hydrogen peroxide and gauze in his hands and his brow furrowed.

“I’m sorry for— for following you. I fucked up.”

“Cody—” 

“No, I mean it.” It hurts to talk. (Cody wonders if he broke some ribs. He broke one in middle school playing flag football. Couldn’t sleep comfortably for three weeks.) “I was... scared and it was stupid.” 

“Why were you scared?” Noel asks. He looks so small like this. 

“Just thought that you might not, I don’t know, want this? Anymore?” 

“Don’t want what? You?” Noel stands, sets the supplies down on the yellowing counter. Cody nods. “No. Stop.” 

“But you said—”

“I’m sorry for what I said.” Noel cuts him off with a hand to the face. “I was on a coke comedown. Fucking whacked out, you know? I didn’t mean it. I promise you I didn’t fucking mean it.” 

“Yeah?”

 _“Yeah.”_ Noel’s eyes are way, way soft. Cody can feel his own heartbeat everywhere, the tips of his fingers, his tongue, the gash in his side. 

“Okay.” Cody says.

“I,” Noel swallows and Cody watches the bob in his throat, “love you, man.” 

Cody smiles. Kisses his bloodied knuckles. 

“Shut up and sew me up.” 

—

Noel stitches Cody up with fishing line, holds him up under the weak spray of the shower until the water pooling around the drain runs clear, wipes the blood off the walls of the crime-scene bathroom, lays him down in clean boxers on his right side on the mattress. Slips an oxycontin tab under his tongue. 

“You okay?” Noel asks soft and slow. 

“Better than ever.” The oxy feels like liquid gold in his veins. Fuck. That’s good.

“I’m sorry you got shot.” It sounds like a joke in Noel’s drawl. Cody turns his head as much as he can without feeling a pull in his stitches, rolls his eyes in Noel’s face. There’s still dry blood edging his hairline. His face and neck are pink and pretty and scrubbed clean. He looks like something Cody wants to choke out. 

“You can make it up to me.” The drugs and the pain and the headiness of having Noel right there in his space, covered with _his_ blood, pretty tongue held between pretty lips in concentration while he pulled a needle through Cody’s skin, has all gone straight to Cody’s cock. 

“Yeah?” Noel’s voice melts him. Always has and always will. 

_”Yeah.”_

“You can’t fuck me like this.” Noel’s voice is teasing but his hand feels huge and heavy as it presses into Cody’s bare shoulderblade.

“Who says?” 

“ _Me,_ douchebag.” Noel’s lips touch down soft on the back of Cody’s neck. “Don’t need you bleeding all over my dick.” 

“So then you fuck me. I’ll stay still.” 

Noel guffaws.

“You got _shot_ , Cody.” 

“I don’t feel it.”

“You’re high.” 

“C’mon. You know you want to.”

Noel sighs out through his nose. Nibbles gentle at Cody’s earlobe. It’s so good. Fuck, it’s so good with him.

“I’ll fuck your thighs.” 

Yeah, okay. That shuts Cody up.

“My _thighs_?” God, Cody can’t believe how hard his dick is getting at the prospect of high-school dry humping, the prospect of watching Noel’s swollen cock slide between—

_Snap out of it, Kolodziejzyk._

“Anyone ever done that to you before?” Noel’s voice is low and so fucking dirty. 

“No.” It comes out a murmur.

“You like the idea, man. I can tell.” Noel punctuates the statement with a soft squeeze of Cody’s cock. It jumps. _Ugh._ “You like it a lot.” 

“It’s... interesting.” Cody admits, as if his cock isn’t aching with the strain, aching in the same way that his ribs ache and that shouldn’t be hot because he almost _died_ but it _is_. 

“So?” Cody doesn’t have to be looking at Noel’s face to see his shit-eating grin. 

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah, what?”

“Man,” Cody closes his eyes, can feel the warmth coming off of Noel’s body, “you gonna make me say it?” 

Noel is silent, waiting. Cody swallows and concedes.

“Yeah, I want you to fuck my thighs.” 

Noel’s hands are at Cody’s hips immediately, tugging his boxers down below his knees. He likes that he can’t see the look in Noel’s eyes. Likes imagining. 

Likes the click of the lube cap and the cold shock of it when Noel slides a wet hand between Cody’s tattooed thighs. 

“Mmph.” Cody can’t help it. His top teeth meet his bottom lip and drive down.

“God,” Noel chuckles, “you.” 

“Can you—” is all Cody gets out before the flushed head of Noel’s cock pushes between Cody’s thighs and out into view, hard and leaking below his own. _Jesus fuck._

“Fuck, _Cody_.” Noel moans it, and the heavy, slick weight between Cody’s thighs feels so fucking _obscene_ that he can barely breathe. 

Noel’s palm opens on Cody’s top thigh and presses down and Cody knows what he’s doing, knows how tight it must be, wonders if this feels anything like the first pussy Noel fucked.

Because this is _better_ than the first pussy that Cody fucked. 

“That good? You like using my body to get off like a _teenager_ when I can’t pound you into the mattress? You like this?” Cody knows he’s rambling, can’t care because Noel is laying behind him and gasping and their torsos are stuck together with sweat and every time he thrusts his hips forward the wound on Cody’s side throbs _deliciously_.

He’ll pay for this with pain redoubled tomorrow but now, here, nothing matters but the wet drag of Noel’s cock over pale skin and fading ink.

“So good, Cody, so _fucking_ good.” 

When Noel comes it’s a shock, a hot splash across Cody’s thighs that dribbles down into the red sheets, Noel’s teeth worrying tender grooves into Cody’s shoulder, Cody’s cock hard enough that it hurts more than the haphazard stitching. 

“Fuck.” Noel lets go of Cody’s thigh and it’s a loss. The cum cooling rapidly against his skin is uncomfortable in a way that he never wants to let go of. “I didn’t—”

Noel trails off, presses his open mouth to the base of Cody’s neck.

“Didn’t think dry humping an invalid would get you off that fast?” Noel chuckles and it’s as good as the oxy. 

“Wanna get you off.” Noel murmurs. 

“So do.” 

Noel blows Cody, crouching low on the floor next to the mattress and hollowing out his cheeks and drooling down his chin until every muscle in Cody’s body tightens and he comes down Noel’s perfect throat. 

—

It takes more than two weeks for it to stop hurting like hell every time Cody breaths in, another two weeks after that before he can sleep on his back. Noel takes out the stitches with marksman precision and the bruising around the wound has faded from violent mauve to sickly yellow-green. 

They rewatch the whole Breaking Bad box set. Noel makes quesadillas and waffles and helps Cody shower. 

Tom got the Civic and the gun back from the gas station cashier. Lied about Cody dying on the way to the hospital to prevent the kid from going to the cops with the evidence. 

Noel says they’ll wait a while for the next hit. 

Sometimes, when Cody is in that ephemeral place between sleeping and waking, he sees the look in Noel’s eyes as Cody bled, half-conscious, in the backseat of the van. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever forget that look. 

It rains for the first time in months, heavy and hard and unrelenting, and Noel quips about Noah’s ark as he downs a beer in front of the sodden kitchen window. It ruins the carpet in the bedroom and brings up scraggly green growth through the dirt. 

They move the mattress into a dry place in the living room. Cody falls asleep late to the pounding of rain and the pressure of Noel’s arm draped across him and hopes to god that he will never have to say goodbye to this.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaa thank you for reading!! Hope it was enjoyable!


End file.
